Dovah Or Man?
by The Techno King
Summary: Marcus Blaze-Blade finally finds himself returning to the land he once called home. But darkness has risen in his harsh homeland when was gone. Elven overlords have brought Skyrim to its knees... And an ancient evil has been resurrected. However, he does not stand alone. Will our hero thwart the elves tyranny and defeat the dragons? Or will he fall to these powerful foes?


**A/U This is my first fanfiction and it was wrtten by a 13 year old. I plan to make this a long adventure novel with action, humor, and romance. I'm just going to post one or two chapters and see how it goes. Whether its good or not is up to you, but if you guys tell me its not good, I'll simply take it down and edit it some more. I welcome criticism. So make sure to review! With that out of the way, let's get started!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim or any of Bethesda's games and characters. Don't forget to review. Enjoy.**

"Uh, my head..."

I tilt my head forward as my eyes flutter open. They squint as the light pierces my pupils, stinging them. The lack of light received from them being closed has made them sensitive. But after a few moments they adjust. Across from me, a middle aged man notice's me awakening.

"Hey you, you're finally awake." I hear him state, in a thick, Nordic accent. I look down only to find that my wrists have been bound. I struggle to free them, if only to say I tried. These ropes are to thick for anyone to break, let alone someone who's been doing nothing but plucking vegetables for a few years.

 _How did I get here?_

"You tried to cross the border right?" The Nordic man asked, almost as if reading my mind. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us, and that thief over there." He motions his head to his left.

The ambush. The Imperials. The Storm-Cloaks. Swords. Arrows. _Blood._

I snap back to reality. That doesn't matter at the moment. What matters is getting out of this mess. I look over to see a skinny, dirty man that the nord was referring to.

"Damn you Storm-Cloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy." The skinny man growls. The nord did nothing but stare daggers into him. "If they weren't looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He looks at me. " You there. You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Storm-Cloaks the Empire wants." He glares back at the nord.

The two engage in their prideful staring contest, both unwilling to show weakness in the slightest. Then, a few minutes in, the nord blinks and the skinny man smirks victoriously. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now thief." The nord spits.

"Shut up back there!" The driver of the carriage yells.

We all exchange looks, and the cart grows silent. The only noise we make being the carriage bumping along the road. I'm not sure why we listen to that tyrant up front, maybe trying to get our sentence cut down for good behavior, or maybe we're just tired of political arguments between the local men. Either way I know for a fact that everyone is praying to whatever gods they believe in to save their hides. Those prayers are wasted breath though. No god would interfere with something as trivial as this. I'm not wasting my time. I'm trying to figure a way out of this. If I could just get these binds off I could...

"Hold!" A distant imperial yells. Our cart stops moving.

"Why are we stopping?" The skinny man asks nervously.

"Why do you think?" Huffs the nord. "End of the line."

"No, this can't be happening, this isn't happening!" The skinny man yells frantically as he jerks around his binds.

We all just watch him struggle to free himself. All the while he was sobbing for forgiveness from the Gods like some child that just got a punishment from their parents. It was quite a pathetic display.

Then an Imperial Officer walks up to our driver.

"What is it sir?" Our driver asks.

The Officer rolls his eyes. "There's some Thalmor who apparently have order's from General Tullius to take these prisoners to their camp." He draws out.

"What will you say sir?" Our driver asks absentmindedly.

"Well I think I'll tell them to shove there orders up their ass, considering that we have orders from the General to bring them north." The Imperial chuckles. "Just thought I'd tell ya; get comfy, this might take awhile." And with that he heads back to the Thalmor Officer.

"Wow." I chuckle. "That officer's got balls." The others grunt in agreement.

Minutes pass. The argument between the Thalmor and the Imperial Officers seems to heat up. I can hear bits and pieces of their argument, but not enough to put together what they're talking about. Eventually, the Thalmor huffs, and he and his entourage stride away.

"Glad that's over with." The larger nord chuckles as he blows a stray strand of his long blonde hair out of his face. "By the way, my name is Ralof."

I smirk at his feminine gesture. "Marcus, Marcus Blaze-Blade."

"I'm Lokir." Lokir pipes up, than almost immediately shrinks back down skittishly.

The next few minutes are spent in an awkward silence.

"Hey, Ralof, who is the man on my right, and why is he the only one gagged?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"That is Ulfric Storm-Cloak, the true high king!" Shouts Ralof with a proud smile.

"Ulfric? Your the leader of the rebellion." States Lokir. He seems to ponder that for a minute, than slowly, a look of terror crawls onto his face. "If they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" He asks nervously.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Responds Ralof somberly.

We spend the next few minutes pitifully watching this poor excuse for a man struggle against his binds and sob like a child for the second time within a few minutes. We all exchange depressing glances as we can do nothing but watch. I haven't thought of a way out yet so I'm also beginning to fear of whats to come. Mentally, the only thing I'm capable of doing right now is to prepare. And whats to come is, well.. _Death._ Maybe if I prepare to accept death, I might find some sort of peace. Naturally, my thoughts turn to the only thing I ever cared about, and I receive some comfort knowing I will soon meet her in Sovngarde. _Raechal..._

Then a glint of gold catches my eye.

I instinctively bring my head up and around, scanning the treeline for any movement.

"Hold!" Shouts our driver, immediately stopping our cart, and all of those in front of us. It appears that he also saw something unnatural in the brush. He slowly brings his hand to the hilt of his sword. "Something doesn't look ri-!" He gets cut off as an Elven arrow screams through his neck! It takes me a half a second to react, but when I do, only one thing comes to mind...

"Ambush!" The driver in the lead cart bellows, as he and his comrades take up arms to combat the new threat.

"What's happening?" Screams Lokir.

"Everyone out of the cart, now!" I yell.

We each file out of the cart. Over by the lead cart I see Thalmor soldiers battling Imperials. Arrows fly all around us.

"The horses!" Shouts Lokir. "Get to the horses!"

Then, just as luck would have it, the horses whinny and take off, barreling down the road attempting to aid their masters in battle.

"Shit!" Shouts Ralof. "Into the woods! It's our only chance now!"

We all take off into the forest. We sprint through the brush, scaling obstacles and dodging branches in attempt to escape the carnage behind us.

Then all of a sudden, a scream pierces my ears. I look over my shoulder to find that the source of the sound was none other than Lokir. Upon closer inspection, I see an arrow protruding from his chest.

"Run." I hear him wheeze. Then he tumbles to the ground.

Seeing that they intend to kill makes even more adrenaline than I thought possible course through me. With this new found energy I sprint even faster then before, deeper into the woods. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit..._

I stop to rest after around a half an hour when I'm sure that I lost them. Out of breath and energy, I hobble into a small clearing on the edge of a lake. I don't know where anyone is, I must have lost them in the forest. They're either dead, or went in a different direction. I strain to hear something, anything to hint at their safety, but nothing comes. It's dead silent. My eyes widen in realization as I back up against the tree bark. I should be hearing birds or insects, it shouldn't be silent!

I slump my shoulders in defeat as Thalmor soldiers emerge from the treeline. I'm dead tired and I have no way of defending myself. If I try to swim I would likely drown. I look at the most decorated of the soldiers right in the eyes as he approaches. He comes to a halt a few feet away, towering over me by at least a foot and a half.

Then he snickers. "A valiant effort on your part, but I'm afraid our little game ends here." He undoes the buckle on his mace, and pulls it free. "Sweet dreams."

"Goddammit, not again." I groan as I get pummeled into unconsciousness.

I open my eyes but the only thing to greet them is darkness. I struggle to sit up, but am immediately sent back down. I have a throbbing headache, and my arm feels like it's on fire. I strain my neck to see over myself, and squint to see through the dimly lit room. All I can make out is slabs of rock, with a toilet, a sink, and the bed I'm sitting on. A prison cell.

"Hello?" I call out, mainly from instinct.

"Hey." Replies a monotonous voice. It sounds feminine.

At the sound of someones voice I find the strength to sit up.

"Where are you?" I ask.

"In the cell next to yours dumbass." She replies with the same tone.

Well then.

"Thanks for the information." I groan. "Do you know where we are?"

"In a prison dumbass." She replies again.

"I'll take that as a no than?" I ask rhetorically.

"You're like a detective." She replies. Again.

"And your just a wealth of information." I quip.

She's starting to piss me off. I get off my bed and walk up to the door to peer out. There's' a dimly lit hallway with rows of cells as far as I can see, and there is a Thalmor guard stationed every thirtieth cell or so.

"What's your problem?" I ask.

"We're in a prison. I wonder what could possibly be upsetting about that." She sarcastically sings. She sounds very annoyed.

"Wow." I mumble. "You must have been in here a long time for your spirits to have fallen so low."

"Shut up." She hisses.

A few minutes pass. My smirk escapes my face when I think actually think about what I said. I mean she sounded _**really**_ depressed. My curiosity gets the best of me. "How long have you been here?"

"Why do you care?" She grumbles.

"Well, it's not like I have anything else to do. Just trying to make conversation." I retort. I hear her sigh in annoyance.

"Three years." She spoke so softly I barely heard her.

"What?" I hear her clear her throat loudly and take a deep breath.

"Three years." This time she spoke loud and clear.

"Why have you been here for this long?"

She stays silent. I can understand why she wouldn't want to talk about something like that. Three. Fricken. Years. I can't imagine what the Thalmor have done to her in that time. The thought alone makes my mind race. What are they going to do to me?

And as if on queue, my door opens.

"On your feet prisoner." A high-elf said in their snide, high pitched voice, as he strides in my cell. He smiles evilly. "The Emissary would like a... word, with you."

The elf, who I can only assume to be some kind of Officer, and some guards start to walk me to the Emissary's office. I try to make a mental map of what I see, but everything looks the same. My mind starts racing trying to think of any form of escape. I could try take a few of them down with my fire, but I don't know where I am in the prison, and there's way too many guards. Ultimately, there's nothing I can do.

We walk into the "Office", which, of course with my luck, turns out to be an interrogation chamber. I step inside and see who I assumed to be the Emissary sitting behind a desk smirking at me. Next to him is the interrogation table, and beside that is a little stool with all kinds of torture tools. Knives, razors, hammers, and some sort of drowning device.

"Marcus." He states, reading my name from a paper. Then he gestures to the seat across from him. "Why don't you take a seat."

"I'm good, but thanks anyway." I articulate sarcastically. He nods to the guards and they force me into the seat.

"Now Marcus." He starts, as he stands up and starts to circle me. "I'm pretty sure you know how this works, but I'll run it by you just in case. I am going to ask you some questions. If you answer them truthfully, then you'll walk out of this alive, and unharmed." He circles back in front of me, grabs my chair dramatically, and then chuckles. "But if I think you are lying, well, my men and I are going to have some fun." I just stare at him, trying my best to look intimidating. He just snorts. Then laughs a crazy, maniacal laugh. I'm in for one hell of a ride. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!_

The next few hours are nothing but a painful blur. He asks me questions about the Storm-Cloaks, of which I don't know the answers too, and I say that, but of course he thinks I'm lying. He stabs me with knives, hits me with hammers, peels my skin off with razors, and nearly drowns me multiple times. I can't answer any of his questions, so I pay the price.

After my "Initiation", as the emissary called it, the guards take me, no, carry me back to my cell and toss me into it. The slam of the stone door echos in my tiny cell. I slowly get up, limp my way to my bed and collapse onto it.

"Hey, your back." Says the girl, hint of genuine worry in her tone. "You okay?"

"Seriously?" I barely manage to croak. "You've been here for three years, and your asking me if I'm okay after an interrogation?" It came out harsher than I meant it too be, but you can't blame me for being a little upset.

"Well... Crap. My bad. Sorry." She says timidly.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, with nothing but the screams of the other people being interrogated to break it. If I'm going to be here for a long time, which it looks like I might be, maybe I should get to know her. You know, just to pass the time.

"What are your in for?" She asks abruptly. "I-If you don't mind me asking." She quickly tacks on.

"No, no, don't worry, I don't." I start. "I was crossing the border into Skyrim, when I saw a battle going on farther the road, between the Imperials and the Storm-Cloaks. I had light armor on over my clothes, so I guess the Imperials thought I was part of some reinforcements for the Storm-Cloaks, because they came after me as well."

"Damn, talk about judging a book by its cover." She muses.

"Tell me about it." I snort. "Anyways, we were on are way to some town in the back of a wagon when the Thalmor ambushed us and took me prisoner."

"Well shit." She states bluntly.

That was probably the worst luck I've had in my life. But now that I'm thinking about that, wasn't there something I wanted to do? I'm pretty sure I meant to ask something, but then they took me to the "Office". Think, think, think...

"Hey, now that you have me on the topic," I start. "Have the guards mentioned any 'Ralof' at all?"

"Nope." She says bluntly.

"How about a 'Lokir'?

"No."

"'Ulfric Storm-Cloak'?"

"Na-wait what?" She pipes up.

"Ulfric Storm-Cloak." I repeat. "Jarl of Windhelm? Leader of the re-"

"I know who he is!" She chides. She seems to think deeply about this new information. "Ulfric..." She whispers.

"How do you know him?" I inquire.

"I'd rather not say." She replies.

"Fair enough." I huff.

So, I got ambushed and captured by the Imperials, our prison wagon then got attacked and ambushed by the Thalmor, I escaped into the woods, a half an hour later I got ambushed and captured _**again**_ by more Thalmor, then I got sent to this shit hole, and finally got tortured by some crazy ass elf guy. Good day. I wonder what this woman went through to get here?

"I told you what I'm for, how about you tell me what you're in for. What's your story?"

"I uh... I'm sorry I can't bring myself to talk about it yet." She replies, with deep sadness in her tone.

"Oh, sorry." I say apologetically.

Silence greets us again.

She exhales sharply. "No, I'm sorry. I just... I really, _really,_ don't want to talk about it."

"No problem." I sigh. "I understand. By the way, the name's Marcus."

"My name's Alexa."


End file.
